Castle of Lies

by Kiersi Burkhart

  As much as I don’t want to go anywhere near Morgaun, I find myself next to him at the dinner table. Luckily, he doesn’t look up from his reading.

  “Have they taken you yet?” Duke Finegarden asks us.

  “Taken us where?” I ask. We’ve been taken a lot of places.

  “The procedure.”

  Morgaun spits something into his dirty mug. “A procedure? You mean, a personal invasion.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Thelia asks the Duke.

  He sighs. “Once a week they bring us all to the banquet hall for dinner. We’ve heard stories about the long ears taking people, one at a time, to a room downstairs. And doing . . .” He lets out a long, troubled breath. “Nobody knows.”

  Morgaun leans perilously far back in his chair. “I bet they take you apart, piece by piece.”

  He must be wrong. Sapphire said, wash, relocate.

  The Duke sighs at his son. “They go one at a time. Others have seen them through the windows and they have no hair anywhere. They don’t come back.”

  “I told you,” Morgaun says, looking at Thelia and me. “Boiling us. Cleansing us for mass sacrifice.”

  Corene’s head jolts up, and she looks at him for only a moment before looking away. I remember what she said: I know how these things go. Invasions end in blood.

  Duke Finegarden turns to Bayled. “What about the King’s army? We assumed they had defeated you when the elven host appeared.”

  “I lost contact when Nul se Lan left with them,” he says.

  Duke Finegarden scowls. “He left? Why?”

  “He thought we stood no chance against the long ears. He wasn’t wrong. But when the Baron didn’t arrive at the Crossing, and I took a detour to—”

  “You what?” the Duke sits up. “Why would you abandon your own force?”

  Bayled holds up a hand to silence him. It’s the boldest thing I’ve ever seen him do, and Duke Finegarden’s face curdles. “There were no good options, so I made the best choice I could. I won’t apologize for that.”

  The Duke hmms. “And how did you end up back here, General Vasha, without an army, in the company of a deserter?”

  “We heard the King was dead,” Bayled says, face impassive. “Baron Durnhal helped me return to Melidihan and committed his force to my cause. He’s more than made amends.”

  I’m impressed with Bayled. Only a few moons ago, he’d have frozen up facing Thelia’s father. Now his face is hard and his voice is firm. No more nervous energy—it’s been replaced by a sort of soul-deep irritation.

  I look at him thoughtfully. “With Nul se Lan committing high treason, I suppose that makes you the King’s heir again, doesn’t it?”

  He just stares at me.

  “Not that it matters,” Thelia says. “There’s nothing left to be king of. There’s nobody to tell what to do.” What a Thelia view of the world.

  Bayled rolls his eyes. “Ruling is about more than telling someone what to do.”

  “I suppose out of anyone here,” I say, “you would know.”

  Thelia

  I’ve never been more eager for a meal to end. Parsifal heads into the other room to begin sorting through his parents’ belongings. Daddy lies down on the daybed and seems to instantly fall asleep. Bayled sits by the window and looks out absently, while Morgaun remains at the table reading a book.

  Corene leans over him. “What are you reading?”

  “Nothing.” He tucks the book into his lap and hunches over it so she can’t see it. The craggon is clearly hiding something.

  She sighs sadly. “I miss reading. It was my escape for so long. I’d just returned all my books to Forgren before everything happened, and I’ll never see them again.”

  Morgaun looks up slightly. “I got these from Forgren.”

  “You’ve found him?” Corene whispers back.

  She has the audacity to titter around with Morgaun, right in front of us? She knows how he’s tormented me, and continues even when everything has collapsed around us. She must be angry that I exposed her lies to Bayled, and this is her revenge.

  I feel the shuddering, consuming fury rising up in me again. My breath starts to catch in my throat, and I’m suddenly so angry. I could kill her without regretting a single thing.

  “Theels?” I hear Parsifal say. He squeezes my shoulder, and I know he’s seeing what I’m seeing.

  I close my eyes and take long, deep breaths. I won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart. Bayled glances at them, but nothing registers on his face.

  As evening approaches, Bayled locates a pillow, lies down on the floor, and looks ready to go to bed there. It’s like nothing matters to him anymore.

  “This is silly.” I kneel by him. “You’re going to sleep here?”

  Bayled yawns. “Why not? I’ve been sleeping on the rocky ground since I left. I’m used to it. Your bed’s yours, and Parsifal’s is Parsifal’s.”

  Corene sits up at the table. “What about me? Where do I sleep?”

  I shoot Bayled a look, but he says nothing. So I whisper to Parsifal, “Do you want to sleep in my room? Give Bayled and Corene yours?”

  His eyes search mine for what feels like an eternity. I rub my hands together, feeling like I’ve made a mistake. We left what happened behind, back in North Hall. When Sapphire abandoned us . . . Perhaps those were desperate acts, quiet things meant to be left in shadow.

  “Absolutely.” Parsifal clears his throat. “You two lovebirds,” he says, glancing at Corene and Bayled, “can have my room. I’m small and so is Thelia, so as much as I’d like to share a bed with you—” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively at Bayled, who just sighs, “—I can sleep in her room.”

  “Thanks,” Bayled says. “It’ll be the first time I’ve slept in a real bed in a while.”

  To not draw attention, I go to bed before Parsifal does. We’re just cousins. We’ve grown up together. Sleeping in the same bed when there aren’t any other options isn’t suspicious. Right?

  As I crawl under the blankets of my old bed, Sapphire’s face clings to my memory—their diamond-shaped face, those purposeful eyes. The lips that look like stiff metal, but feel like velvet on mine. The musical sound of their voice.

  When we escaped, were they blamed? I sit up in bed, my heart pounding. Maybe Sapphire was thrown in the dungeon and left to die in the dark because they trusted us. Because they liked me. Because they believed I liked them back.

  I think Sapphire would be right about that.

  I’m not asleep yet when Parsifal slips in. He drops a pillow and a thin blanket on the floor next to the bed. I lean over the side. “What are you doing?”

  “Going to sleep.”

  “Down there?”

  He sits back on his heels. “What would you have me do?”

  I lift the blanket up and pat the bed next to me. Eyes crinkling in the dim moonlight, Parsifal slides under the blanket. I don’t know who puts their hands into whose clothes first, but when we’re finally together, it’s just what I need.

  Bayled

  One single bed sits in the middle of the tiny room—a bed that everyone expects Corene and me to share. The happy couple, reunited.

  But the gap between us is a canyon. This war has changed us. I’m more weary. More suspicious. And she’s . . . bitter. Sharp-edged. She has so many different faces now.

  The soft mounds of pillows and blankets make me think of Red and Captain Tarkness, swimming in their own filth somewhere far below us. I feel sick to my stomach as I lie under the blankets, waiting for Corene.

  When she comes in, she sets her candle on the small table and begins to undress. I’m wearing my clothes, hoping that we’d just sleep after the enormity of this day. She pulls up the blankets and climbs in next to me. Her cold hand finds its way over my stomach, running from my chest to my groin, and prickles sprout all across me. “I’m so glad to see you again,” she whispers, burying her face in my neck. “I thought I’d lost you forever. It tore
me open inside, Bayled.”

  The words roll over me like water, vaporizing into air. She was happy enough to pretend to like Nul se Lan and dance to the tune of duty, to ask about his well-being before anything else.

  I say, “I’m happy to see you too.” It’s enough for her. Her hand ducks under the fabric of the pants Parsifal lent me and I close my eyes. When we kiss, her lips are harder than I remember. I go through the motions—touch her chest, let her slide on top of me. A long time passes before I’m useful to her. I claim that it’s not her, I’m just tired.

  We try not to make a sound, not that we have to worry. Our one remaining job is to conceive an heir, to continue the Hindermark line, like a pair of breeding horses. But I’d feel even more humiliated if we were overheard.

  We’ve lit no candles, and that saves me from having to see. Only Corene’s swinging hair appears in fits when the moonlight touches it. As she moves, Corene whimpers, until I realize that what I thought were sounds of pleasure are quiet sobs. I stop. “Corene?”

  She collapses to my chest. “I’m sorry, Bayled. I’m sorry. I’m so worried about Dad.” She cries into me and that’s the end of this.

  I’ve never been more thankful.

  Sapphire

  The bowls and plates on the tray will not cease rattling. They are like squorks in a cage, trying to claw their way out. A misbehaving pot left a black scorch mark on my arm. Soon we will not be able to cook anymore, because open flames allowed to burn for more than a few seconds start to sizzle and spark.

  The sour, cinnamon scent of Magic is so thick and dense it fills every spare stretch of air. It is heavy, like fog. It is in every inhale of breath, clogging up my lungs. Even in the High Seer’s cavern in Viteos, where liquid Magic bubbles up from the ground—vibrating green and blue—it is not like this. A volatile second skin, waiting to ignite.

  I hold the bowls and plates down on the tray just long enough to get into the dungeon. It is empty now besides the two new prisoners. We did a decent job cleaning out the remains, and it does not smell quite as terrible.

  The woman sits on the floor, impassive. The man gasps when he glimpses me. He has bushy hair on his upper lip, styled in a curve on each side. Humans do such creative things with their facial hair.

  “Why not just kill us?” he asks. I say nothing and slide him his food. He leans forward against the cell door. “Tell me if Thelia Finegarden is all right.” Recognition must show on my face. “You know her!” He rattles the bars. “Where have you taken her?”

  I sigh, taking his old bowls. “She is fine.” When I stand up, I find myself looking into hopeless, desperate eyes.

  “What can you tell me? I came here for her.”

  I should not make conversation and get drawn into their complications. But I need to know. “What does she mean to you?”

  “I’ll answer one of your questions if you answer one of mine,” he says, one bushy eyebrow rising.

  The Commander would have me stop, not give them anything they can use. But these two are isolated here with me as their only caretaker—whatever I tell them, they cannot repeat. And maybe I can learn something. “One question for one question,” I agree.

  “Where is Thelia?”

  “South Hall with her family. My turn. How do you know her?”

  “I’m a friend of the late King’s. Baron Durnhal, by the way—pleasure to meet you. This is Captain Tarkness.” The woman barely raises her head. “I met Thelia while visiting Four Halls, and I almost married her.” When I fail to control my snap reaction to this, he lets out a chuckle. “She’s something, isn’t she? How do you know her?”

  “I kept watch,” I say carefully. “Same as I do for you.”

  “So you’re a prison guard?”

  “One question at a time. Now me. Why did you come to Four Halls?”

  “We tried to rescue them—Thelia and the others.” A cynical laugh. “I knew it was a flawed plan, but I had to try.”

  I am grateful, though. Had they not arrived, my charges would have escaped. Parsifal, covered in Magic but with no training on using it, would have hurt himself—or Thelia.

  “What about you?” the Baron asks. “Why are you here, caring for us?”

  “I am being punished.”

  I should not have said it. I have given him an opening.

  “For what? Oh, I know, one question at a time.” He peers through the bars at me. “Whatever you did, I’m sure you did it for the right reasons. You know, what’s being done here—it’s wrong. I can tell you think so too.”

  I pick up the bowls and head for the stairs.

  “You could leave,” he calls after me. “Maybe we could help each other escape this place.” I cannot even let myself listen. “Hey, come back! We weren’t finished.”

  “I am finished,” I say, and let the dungeon door fall closed.

  Chapter 17

  Bayled

  Thelia and Parsifal sit by the window of the suite’s main room, playing pa-chi-chi with old buttons. The Duke rests in an armchair, eyes closed but not asleep. I sit in a chair, just thinking. Imagining Red down in the dungeon. Trying to go back in time and undo what we’ve done, to bring Harged back to life.

  Corene joins Morgaun at the table, taking the top book off a pile. She starts to read the first page, so I stop watching. I hate the sickly, irritated feeling I get when I look at her. Where did all these books come from, anyway? Thelia never had a library.

  A few pages in, Corene stops and whispers a question to Morgaun. Since when are they such chums? She hated him our whole childhood. She supported Thelia’s move to Four Halls just to escape him.

  Everything feels wrong. Maybe she hopes this will make me jealous. I would never have expected such pettiness from her before yesterday—especially now, with the Kingdom crumbling around us. But the soft, kind home in my heart that once waited for her has shriveled.

  The door creaks and Morgaun grabs the books reflexively, shoving them under the table. Two elven soldiers step inside, faces hidden by helmets, long ears poking out the top.

  “Dinner,” the first soldier says, gesturing for us all to stand up. We do as we’re told, and the soldiers tie our wrists together before leading us out of the room. We join a stream of other human prisoners and descend down the stairs. No one speaks as we walk with our eyes down, like lambs to the slaughterhouse.

  “Dinner” is in the banquet hall, now set for hundreds. As we approach, the chairs slide out of their own accord to accommodate us.

  “It’s the Princess!” somebody cries.

  Corene turns and brings out her practiced, winning smile. “It was finally time,” she says, as if her appearance today was completely planned. “I’m so glad to see you all again.” I can’t believe she’s putting herself on a platform, even now. What the people need is honesty and companionship, not theater.

  The whole room buzzes with the news: the Princess and the King’s ward have returned.

  Soon the cutlery and plates arrive, flying in through the entryway and landing in front of each of us. I nearly fall off the bench in shock, but Parsifal steadies me with one hand. It’s like the servants have become invisible.

  Next come the steaming serving bowls full of food, settling like birds in the middle of each table. It’s a living nightmare, where everything—down to the spoon—has a mind of its own.

  “Magic,” Thelia tells me. “It’s spilling out of the ground right underneath us.”

  “That’s why the long ears are here, you know,” Parsifal adds. “To clean the Magic off us.”

  I’m about to ask him to explain when Lady Harmouth leans toward me. “General Vasha, how did you survive battle with the long ears?”

  “There wasn’t a battle.” I look her right in the eyes. “Nul se Lan is a traitor. He tried to have me killed, and then the coward took off into the woods with the army.”

  Gasps ripple down the table.

  “We’re so sorry to hear it, General,” the Count says. He scowl
s. “That Southerner is no King of mine. Never was, never will be.”

  The table echoes it. “No King of mine.”

  I try to put on a smile, but the words are hollow. At least he wanted to be King. What happens when old Hindermark really does kick off? For a few weeks, I was spared that future—the endless, impossible responsibility of ruling.

  “Doesn’t that make General Vasha the King?” says Lady Harmouth.

  “I believe you’re right.” The Count hits the table with his fist. “After that traitor Nul se Lan, Vasha is the rightful heir.”

  Corene clears her throat. “I think determining succession is a little beyond us at the moment, isn’t it?” she asks, as a bowl of gravy pours itself onto her plate. “My father is still alive. Who are we to choose who will succeed him? For all we know, he could decide that I am best suited to be Queen.”

  Next to me, Parsifal elbows Thelia in the side.

  “Perhaps, Princess,” the Count says, measuring his words. “As you say, we will leave it to the King to decide such matters.”

  “What is most important right now is to restore the Kingdom,” I say. “Not choose kings and queens.”

  Corene glares at me, but I ignore her. Where was all this certainty, all this confidence, when she refused to fight for me? When she put the Kingdom before me, and before our love?

  Because it was never about the Kingdom for her. I have to wonder, now—has it ever been about the Kingdom for me? Or did I do it all simply to earn my place at Corene’s side?

  At the end of the table, I notice a dark cloaked shape take a seat beside Morgaun. It’s the court wizard, Forgren. His many necklaces—the jewels that allowed him to harness Magic—have all vanished. Probably seized by the elves. He’s the one who told Sasel, The King is dead.

  Forgren whispers something to Morgaun, removes an object wrapped in paper from his pocket, and sets it down on the table. Without his Magic to hold it in place, his hood starts to slip, and I brace myself to see what he’s been hiding underneath—wrinkles as deep as canyons, heavy purple bags under his eyes, drooping jowls, and scars scattered across him like puzzle pieces.